IF they had a baby
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: Recently I read a fic about John and Sherlock having a baby. I toyed with it in my head, and this is what was produced. I dreadfully hate it because I don't think they'd ever have a baby; IF they did this is what I think it'd be like. Characters not mine
1. Chapter 1

It was beginning to look like Sherlock wanted it more than John. Which was unusual, seeing as how just four years ago Sherlock expressed how much he desperately did not want a baby. But somewhere along the line came the final argument, the final, "Ok, John. Yes, by every bone in my body. Let's have a baby." And John cried, "We're going to be parents, Sherlock. We're going to be dad's."

Of course John thought he was too old to become a father. He was an old age of 44, but honestly John didn't feel a day over 34. It was all that running around they did. He was in the best shape of his life, he might have been in better shape than Sherlock with all the junk that man eats.

It was perfect, they thought. They traveled meet the woman that would be their surrogate. Her name was Amy, and honestly she was perfect. She looked a lot like John, including glowing bronze skin, sandy-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She was smart, which the men loved. She was funny, which John loved. She was pretty, which Sherlock loved.

"Why do you like that she's pretty?" John had asked.

"Because she looks like you, and I think you're pretty."

Five months after meeting Amy, they went to a doctors appointment with her to find out the sex of the baby. Sherlock was dead set on wanting to know. He wanted to know so badly that it hurt, but John was all for the surprise. Sherlock raced to the doctor's office, but John strutted along behind him in no hurry at all.

When they got there, Sherlock insisted on finding out.

"Are you sure?" the technician asked.

"Of course I'm sure."

She glanced at John. "Oh, just let him." John said, waving his hand in that air and closing his eyes.

John heard everything, of course. He heard Amy sort of whimpering, "I'm so happy for you guys." And he heard Sherlock asking a thousand questions.

"What's that part?"

"That's an arm."

"What's that?"

"That's an elbow."

"What's that?"

"That would be the nose."

"Well, where's the-"

"Right there."

John heard Sherlock sort of squeal. John heard Sherlock clap his hands in front of his face. John felt Sherlock wrap his arms around his own neck and hold tight, pressing light kisses onto the top of the smaller man's head.

They left without John knowing the sex of their baby, and the whole way home Sherlock and Amy were giggling like school kids. They felt like they were keeping a real secret from John. When they got back to 221B, Sherlock immediately went into Mrs. Hudson's apartment to tell her. She, too, squealed in delight.

"Oh, a little Holmes-Watson-"

"No, no! John doesn't know!"

"Oh, oh right! How romantic, in a way, you know, Sherlock? That's quite sweet!"

"I know, I'm dying to tell him, though. I don't know how long I can keep the secret!"

Sherlock went upstairs and got Amy a glass of milk. She craved milk, which Sherlock thought was very curious. He charted anything she wanted, just for experimental purposes.

John liked how quickly Amy became comfortable with them, and soon wondered why it was Sherlock's never had any friends. Any body that cares to get close to him -himself and Amy- instantly feel attached, like they've known him forever. Amy and Sherlock got along quickly, which Sherlock took as a sign it was ok for him to, sort of, experiment on her.

At first it didn't end well.

"Sherlock! I'm not an experiment!"

"Oh, come on! You kind of are!"

"How, Sherlock? How am I an experiment?"

"Well, well," Sherlock looked around the room, "That's my baby!"

"So? Stop experimenting on me!"

"Fine!"

And he stopped. Well, he stopped letting her know.

Around the third month of pregnancy, she just let him. She actually gave him new ideas, which he loved. Nothing harmed the baby, of course, but it was great for Sherlock and great for John to see his husband getting along with their 'baby-mama' so well.

Yes, Sherlock also took the term of calling Amy 'baby-mama' and Amy called him 'sugar-pie'. Why? John had no idea. He just laughed. To any one else, Sherlock and Amy either fought and looked like brother and sister, or were sweet and endearing and looked like an old married couple.

But don't worry, John wasn't jealous. Of course not, why should he be? He liked Amy too, he had to. The woman was carrying his child. But Amy is seven years younger than Sherlock, so John saw her more as a little sister or one of Sherlock's school friends.

Amy spent a lot of time at their flat. She'd go shopping with them, she'd go to Bart's with them, she'd watch crap telly with them. 45% of the time, the night ended with her and Sherlock arguing.

One night, their argument was so stupid, John stood in the corner and damn well laughed himself into hysterics.

"I'm leaving!"

"Good! Leave!"

Amy headed for the door.

"Wait! Put your coat on!" Sherlock called at her.

Amy sighed loudly and threw her coat on.

"Wait!"

Amy came stomping back into the flat. She pulled her coat open and lifted her shirt up, revealing her growing belly. Sherlock pressed his hand to it, covering her belly button. He breathed in, as if he could somehow smell the baby, and shut his eyes. Amy stood still and let Sherlock do what he always did, feeling his baby.

Sherlock was certain, positively, absolutely certain that the baby was biologically John's. He was so certain, in fact, that in three months he allowed himself to grasp the fact that the baby wasn't going to be _his. _

One night, three weeks after Sherlock found out the sex of the baby, he woke up crying from having a dream about being taken away from John and the baby because, legally, neither are really, _really _his.

"Sherlock? Are you crying?"

"N-no," Sherlock sobbed and sniffled.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"Just a bad dream," Sherlock sighed and pulled John as close as possible.

"About what?"

"Just that," Sherlock sniffled, "That I was taken away from you and the baby."

"No, baby. It's ok, that will never happen."

"I know the baby won't be mine, John. I can feel it. The baby's yours, what if-" Sherlock began to cry, again.

"Stop, Sherlock. Don't think that. The baby is _ours. _Just yours and mine. And you will love our baby more than anything, right? As will I. _Our _baby. I don't care whose DNA he or she has,"

"He."

"What?"

"It's a boy, John. We're having a boy."

John smiled and teared up a little bit. "Really?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry. I just can't keep it in any longer, really, I'm sorry. But now we can paint his room and-"

"Shh, shh," John covered Sherlock's mouth with his hand, "Don't be sorry. I couldn't be more happy, honestly. We're having a boy, Sherlock. And he'll be perfect, like you."

"And you."

They smiled at each other and kissed.

The very next morning, they started painting. They decided, for their son, to paint the walls sky blue with clouds, and hang airplanes from the ceiling. Sherlock had his fascination with airplanes as a kid, and John has his fascination for anything fast. It was perfect.

As they were beginning to put on a second coat, Sherlock's phone rang. Only four people ever call Sherlock, and seeing as how one was in the room with him, it was one of three other people: Lestrade, who was least likely because he gave Sherlock and John two days off; Amy, who usually called John and ended up talking to Sherlock; or Marie, Sherlock's mother. John checked the date: Tuesday. It was Marie.

"Hello, mother?"

John smiled at his own deduction skills.

"We're just painting the room," Sherlock continued. "Blue. - With clouds. - Airplanes. - Yes, like mine when I was a baby. - No, you don't need to, - Sure, I'll email you a photo. - Not until next week, I think. - Yes, I know. -" Sherlock smiled at John and left John to paint. He returned an hour later. "Boy, that woman can talk your ear off."

"I couldn't imagine which son she gave that trait to."

Sherlock scowled at John. "You know our son is going to talk a lot? I talked a lot. Did you, when you were a child?"

"No, not really. I was very quiet, actually. Mostly because Harry talked so damn much."

"Ahh, I see. I talked a lot more than Mycroft."

"You talk a lot now."

"Because you listen."


	2. Chapter 2

Two months and one week later, Sherlock was a messy heap of nerves. Their due date was less than a month away, and Sherlock felt that they were still unprepared. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he called Amy any chance he got to make sure she was ok. It was all so surreal to him, he was still waiting to wake up and be alone in his old, empty flat, with no John, no Amy, no son.

Sometimes when he couldn't sleep he'd wake John up so that John could do all he could to make him relax. Sometimes this meant talking, sometimes this meant telly, sometimes this meant take midnight walks, sometimes this meant tea, sometimes this meant making Sherlock come until his eyes fell out. But John did it, whatever he wanted.

Sometimes Sherlock wouldn't wake John up, instead he'd call Amy. She understood, she was nervous, too. She was the one having to deliver the baby, she had a right to be nervous.

"Hello?"

"Amy."

"Sherlock."

"How are you?"

"Oh, you know."

"I don't, that's why I asked."

Amy sighed, "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"I just can't sleep."

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't know. What did you do today?"

"I went to a museum-"

"Which one?"

"Natural History."

"Sounds rather pleasant."

"It was."

"What'd you eat today?"

"Cranberry sauce."

"Is that it?"

"Oh, no, I thought you were just wondering about which craving I had today."

"No, I was just asking."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm all right, I assure you."

"Go back to bed, Sherlock. John's probably freezing."

Sherlock smiled, "You're right."

"I know."

"I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, then?"

"Of course."

"Goodnight Amy, goodnight baby."

"He says goodnight to his daddy."

Sherlock smiled as he hung up and trotted back upstairs. He got into bed and wrapped his arms around John.

"Sherlock?" John swallowed and pulled Sherlock tight, "Where'd you go?"

"I just went downstairs for a minute."

"Were you on the phone?"

"Yes."

"Mmmm," John sighed and nuzzled Sherlock's neck, "What'd Amy eat today?"

"Cranberry sauce."

"Weird."

"I know."

Three weeks later, a few days before the due date, Amy went into labor. Fortunately, she wasn't alone. Her friend, Grace, was with her. Amy called John from the cab.

"Hello, Amy!"

"John? I just wanted to let you know that it's time."

"It's-it's-"

"Yeah, I'm on my way to the hospital. Don't worry, take your time. Please don't alarm Sherlock, he's fragile. Well, you know that, who am I to explain your husband to you? Anyway, take your time, I'll meet you there."

"Ok! Yes! Of course! We'll be right there!"

Unfortunately, John had no idea where Sherlock was. He called his cell three times, he called Lestrade, he called Mycroft, finally John called Sherlock's mother.

"Hello, John! Pleasant surprise!"

"Yes, pleasure, Marie. Have you heard from Sherlock today?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact he's here!"

"He's," John began to panic, "He's there, with you? Three hours away? When Amy just went into labor?"

"Oh, dear."

"Can I please speak to him?"

She handed the phone to Sherlock. His voice sounded scared and serious. "John."

"Sherlock! What in the world are you doing? Amy's in labor!"

"She is? When? Did she just call? Why didn't she call me?"

"She never calls you! You didn't answer when I called! Three times!"

"Fine, fair! All right, I'm getting a car now and I'll meet you there!"

"Please hurry, Sherlock!"

Amy, who was panicking worse than Sherlock was, waited until the last possible moment to go to the hospital. John, needless to say, was not happy.

"What if you had had to push at your flat?" he asked. "What if you didn't have the correct materials to give birth?" he asked. "What if something went horribly wrong-"

"John! Shut up! _You_ have this person, who isn't even _mine, _by the way, inside you for almost nine months and try to remain calm! Something going horribly wrong has been on my mind this whole time! Just shut the hell up!"

Nobody had talked to John like that in a long time. He shut the hell up and held her hand.

Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Sherlock was in a messy bundle in the back of one of his mother's cars. He was shaking, rocking back and forth, breathing quickly, and he didn't know how to calm himself down. The driver, who has known Sherlock his entire life, was trying to be supportive.

"It's ok, Mister Holmes-Watson. We'll be there soon."

"Ok, please, please hurry."

"Sherlock, if I may," Sherlock nodded for him to continue, "I've seen you grow your entire life, and to be honest, sir, I never thought I'd be driving you to the hospital for the birth of your child. But you've changed so much, young man, you've changed for Doctor Watson and you're changing for this boy. You're going to be a wonderful father, sir, and I feel like you are going to be a good father because of your examples. You're nothing like him, sir, nothing like Mister Thomas."

Sherlock's breathing steadied as he stared out the window and listened to his driver. He remembered the last time he saw his father, how devastated he was the Tuesday he didn't return. He remembered how his mother felt, and he knows he could never let John feel that way.

Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what kind of father he'll be. He wondered if he'd be good, if he'd suck at it, or if he'd be the good cop or the bad cop. In both his and John's mind, Sherlock was going to be the good cop. Sherlock punishes Gladstone by making him sleep on the edge of their bed rather than right between them.

"Sherlock, when punishing him you're supposed to not let him sleep with us at all."

"You get him off, then."

"You! He ate your shoe! He needs to see that you're angry!"

"I'll just go buy another shoe."

"That's not the point!"

"Whatever you say, John."


	3. Chapter 3

Amy's doctor came out of Amy's room to tell John it's time to push. He said she wanted John in there with her, if that's all right with him. He went in and Amy grabbed his arm and squeezed in panic.

"Where is Sherlock?"

"I-I don't know, Amy, he's coming, he's-"

"No, no! I can't push, yet! Sherlock, he needs to be here, I need-" Amy yelled in pain.

"Amy, Amy, breath! Ok? He's coming, he'll be here!"

"She needs to push, Doctor Watson."

"No! Not yet!" Amy yelled in pain, again.

"He's almost here. You can start and by the time he's here, the baby will be here." John was trying to be as calm as possibly.

"No! Not yet!"

Seven minutes of arguing with Amy later, the nurse came in and informed John that Sherlock has arrived. John went outside and embraced Sherlock.

"You idiot, why did you go to your mother's today?"

"I'm nervous, John, and I knew that'd help."

"Did it? It better have!"

"It did, honestly. Ok, where is she, where am I going?"

"She's in there," John pointed to her room, "Listen, she can't do it alone, but only one of us can be in there, so, Sherlock," John looked at his husband, "You go. She needs you. She was waiting for you."

"Are you positive, John?"

"Absolutely. Go. I love you."

Sherlock pulled John's face and kissed him quickly. "I love you, too!"

Sherlock ran into Amy's room. He pulled on a gown and went to Amy's bedside.

"I'm here, Amy, I made it!"

Amy breathed a deep breath, "Where the hell have you been, you idiot? You were supposed to be waiting patiently, and here we are!"

"Why didn't you go to the hospital when you knew you needed to, instead of waiting for the last possibly minute?"

"Oh, shut up! Your husband already gave me this speech!"

Amy yelled and groaned and nearly broke Sherlock's hand, but Sherlock didn't mind. He reminded her to breath and push and breath again.

Some time later, Sherlock had no idea how long, Amy pushed one long, hard last time and suddenly crying was echoing all over the room. Sherlock stared into Amy's eyes, who was crying and smiling and relieved. Sherlock began to cry a little bit, too, as he stroked her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

"Amy, you're the best friend I've ever had."

"What about John?"

"You gave me a son." He smiled at her and they sort of giggled together.

The doctor called to Sherlock, "Dad, do you want to meet your son?"

Sherlock glanced at the doctor, then Amy. She assured him she was all right, so he went to his son.

He was the most beautiful child Sherlock's ever seen, not to say Sherlock knows many babies. The baby's eyes were fighting to keep open and look at Sherlock, and once Sherlock held him tight, the baby's crying slowed and became soft whimpers.

The boy was so obviously Sherlock's it wasn't even funny. He had a skinny body, but his face was a _little _bit plump. Those cheek bones, though, those are going to be as sharp as their owner. His hair was raven black, and thick, but it was straight. His eyes were deep blue, close to John's, but Sherlock knows all newborns have blue eyes. He prayed they'd stay that way, though. He was very pale for a newborn, but of course the child's going to look like a vampire the rest of his life. Sherlock beamed at the baby, his eyes watering a tiny bit, "This is him," Sherlock said, "This is my son."

Once Amy was cleaned up and they took the baby to the nursery, John came into the room to hug Amy. "Well done, Amy, I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, John. It was nothing, your husband is marvelous."

John smiled fondly at Sherlock. "We'd better let you rest." John kissed her forehead and left.

Sherlock stayed behind, he wanted to talk to Amy before she went to sleep. "Do you want to see him?"

Amy began to cry a little bit, "No, Sugar-Pie, I don't. He's," she whimpered slightly, "He's yours."

"I know, but-"

"No, Sherlock. It's all right."

Sherlock pulled her hair away from her face, "Thank you so much, Amy. For everything."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I'm going to miss you."

"Wh-what? Where are you going?"

"To America. I was offered a job there right before I got pregnant, and I'm leaving in three weeks."

"Why?"

"It's a great opportunity, Sherlock. I've done my part for society, Sherlock. I need to do something for myself. By myself."

Sherlock wanted to say how unfair it is that he has to lose such a great friend, but Amy did need to do something for herself. Sherlock nodded. Amy's hand cupped his cheek and rubbed her thumb against his cheek bone. Sherlock began to cry. He didn't like this overwhelming rush of emotions, but he couldn't help it. He hugged Amy as tight as he could without hurting her. She stroked his hair and whispered reassuring words of encouragement.

"Ok, enough now. Go, Sherlock. Go to your family."

"You are my family, too, Amy. I owe you so much."

"No, no. Stop it. He is your son. He just needed female nourishments."

"Will we see you before you leave?"

"Probably not, Sherlock."

Sherlock began to cry again. "I understand. Will you please keep in touch?"

"Of course. Maybe, in time, you three can come visit."

"Of course, of course we will."

They briefly kissed. It was strange, but for some reason Sherlock felt the overwhelming need to kiss her goodbye. He felt so attached to Amy. Everything in him wished he hadn't gotten attached to her, of course she wasn't going to stick around through his baby's life. He wanted to kick himself, but a bigger part of him was happy he made friends with her. It had been a very, very pleasant nine months.

"Goodbye, Amy."

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

He waved to her one last time and made his way to the nursery. He spotted John instantly. He was staring down at their son, and Sherlock made his way to John and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"He's so beautiful, Sherlock. Just like you."

"I know. And here, I was so sure, I hoped so badly-"

"Stop, Sherlock. I'm a lot older than you, your little swimmers probably fought harder to get up there."

Sherlock chuckled and pressed his lips to John's head, "Please stop, that's gross."

"Well!"

They stared for a minute, and finally John picked the baby up. "You know, we have to name him."

"Do we?"

"It comes with the job."

"We can't just call him Holmes-Watson Baby forever?"

"No, Sherlock. Any ideas?"

Sherlock thought, "Ian?" John looked at him curiously, Sherlock continued, "It's, uh, Scottish, for John."

John couldn't fight back a smile or any tears. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Ian Thomas, then?"

Sherlock smiled with delight, "He's perfect, John."

"Just like his father."

"Yes, just like you."


End file.
